


Military Tactics

by A_Touch_Of_Insanity



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, M/M, maybe some smut later on, minor homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Touch_Of_Insanity/pseuds/A_Touch_Of_Insanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is sent to join an elite section of the US military, isolated from the world. Here he will discover what it is like to break rules and to make some new ones with the help of a mysterious young administrator and a handsome commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Military Tactics

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this fanfic! That's literally all I have to say other than  
> 1\. Forgive me  
> 2\. Feedback is highly appreciated  
> ...and finally..  
> 3\. Sorry for all inaccuracies, I'm not in the US military nor will I ever be.

The sudden light pierced Thomas' eyes with such intensity that he had to shut them completely and turn away from the glare. A few seconds later he cautiously turned his head to the opening at the back of the heavy duty passenger lorry built to hold twenty but now just contained him.

  
Over-focused, like a television screen without he colours too bright, he saw the outside world. Bu that wasn't what he was looking at. At the entrance of the lorry, leaning against the now open door with a smirk on his face, was probably the most gorgeous boy he had ever seen. Blond hair that surprisingly shagged across his shoulders, angular nose and high cheekbones. He looked young, barely older than Thomas, barely a man. Also surprising was his figure, which looked lean and strong but nothing like the bulky, muscled men he met in training. And then there was that smirk.

  
Oh, Thomas thought, I'm staring.

  
"You gonna sit there all day, Greenie?" the man said. His voice had a strange clipped accent that he could not place but found utterly endearing.

Thomas stuttered and stood, rucksack on back, stumbling forward. Cautiously he hopped off the end and onto the ground, careful to keep his balance as he had been taught.

The boy didn't acknowledge him until he had slammed the door of the lorry and turned to face him, extending a hand.

"Corporal Isaac, known to all as Newt," he introduced. "We tend to use first or nicknames around here."

"Private Eddison," Thomas said, pausing to consider whilst shaking his hand, palms strangely smooth. "Thomas."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Tommy," Newt laughed, clapping his hand on Thomas' back. He resisted the urge to lean into the contact. They began to walk. "I'm the admin around here. That means whilst the rest of the boys are getting their arses shot off out there, I'll be sitting here nice and cozy doing paperwork. Also means I'm the lucky fella who's got to look after you Greenies."

"Why..." Thomas paused, nervous of being heard. "Why is it just me? All my friends...they left train in groups of ten or more to be posted to their new area but I'm just...me."

"You need to learn to speak up, Tommy, or you'll never be heard amongst our rabble," Newt reprimanded. "And, in answer to your question, not to make you feel too big for you boots but there's not much space here. We only get a new Greenie when we...lose someone. This is a regiment for the elite -the best of the best- and we can't have spare bunks."

Thomas ignored the last part in favour of noticing, "What do mean lose someone?"

"What do you think I bloody mean?" he snapped. "You're in the real army now, Greenie. Not some toddler training camp."

Thomas tried to stammer a reply, staring into the distance thoughtfully.

After a few minutes tense walk, Newt sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, Tommy. I didn't mean to shout," he apologised. His voice cracked a little as he said the next bit. "It's just...the man you're replacing. Alby. He was very dear to me. I haven't really got over it yet."

Thomas was going to reply with his apologies but as the rounded the corner of a squat concrete building he fell silent.

In the dusty courtyard stood the regiment. There can't have been more than fifty or sixty of them. None of the men looked anywhere approaching their mid-twenties.

"Right marker."

A short boy, perhaps one of the oldest there, on the far right front row stamped his foot and marched five paces forward. His face wasn't the prettiest of the people there; lumpy and misshapen as if he had never quite recovered from his teenage years.

The man calling the orders, however, was. He was clearly of Asian descent with smooth tan skin and dark almond eyes. His tense muscles bulged but not with obscenity; unlike some boys at training camp who didn't suit the new muscles that seemed to grow with each new training regime.

"Marker steady," he called. It was hard to gauge what he would actually sound like because he was putting on a gruff voice to call the orders. "Squad, squad attention. Squad will dress to the right in threes, right dress."

Thomas had obviously done drill a thousand times in training. He recognised all the patterns and marching shown but had never before seen it displayed with such accuracy. It intimidated him.

"Wait here," Newt said and hurried off.

He skidded toward where the boy was still calling orders. Not for the first time, Thomas noted that Newt favoured one leg over the other creating a slight limp. Skinny with long hair and a slight limp. Not exactly the soldier he had been imagining he'd meet but then he didn't think it would be possible to imagine Newt.

The Asian boy caught sight of Newt. "Squad, stand at ease."

With a unison stamp they relaxed slightly to a more comfortable position. Thomas watched lips move but they were talking too quietly for him to make out the words. The boy smirks and turns away from Newt and the stony-faced squad to call to Thomas.

"Hey, Greenie! Come and say hello, then," he called.

Blushing with the eyes that were now trained on him, Thomas walked towards them. When he came close, he saw the stripes on the boys arm. Cringing, when he reached him, Thomas raised his arm in a haphazard salute.

"Ooh, I like that," the boy laughs. "Wish you would show me that much respect, Newt."

Newt sighed again but Thomas could tell he was actually amused. "Tommy, this is First Sergeant Minho."

"Pleasure to meet you, Thomas," Minho said, extending a hand in greeting. "Sorry I can't stay to talk but, as you can probably tell, I'm quite busy." After shaking hands the two men turned back to the squad. "Now, Thomas, see here. These men will do exactly as I tell them. And in time, so shall you."

Minho's tone was a mixture of vaguely threatening and powerful the made both Thomas' young and stomach tie in knots. He simply nodded.

Minho resumed calling his orders and Newt ushered Thomas away, smirk once again plastered across his face.

"We don't generally salute here," Newt explains. "You see, they trust us. And that the central command can't be bothered to keep someone posted here constantly. Even if they did, they couldn't do anything about it. These boys are the best in the country and they know it. They're far to valuable to be lost and so it doesn't really matter if they break a few rules. Technically, I'm supposed to keep watch on them but I don't see the point in saluting all the time anyway. There are, however, some rules that I insist are upheld."

"So you guys have free range of this place?"

"Pretty much. Cool, eh?" he smiled. Thomas grunted in affirmation. "Come on, Tommy. I need to show you around."

Newt took Thomas on a tour of the grounds; a small exercise plaza, the bunkhouses, the watchtower where they got a view of the whole of the surrounding countryside. There was nothing really there but dry grass and a few withered shrubs. Thomas also saw that the sun had dipped low in the sky and his stomach rumbled in anticipation of its next meal.

Newt laughed and next guided him to the small kitchen where another young man was waiting. He introduced himself as Frypan and said that he did most of the cooking round here. Thomas and Newt grabbed the plates he had set out for them and ate them with glee. The food here, Thomas resolved, was heaven compared to training camp rations.  
It was twilight by the time Newt was guiding Thomas to the bunkhouse where he would be staying. Finally, Thomas plucked up the courage to ask.

"Newt, where are you from?"

"Britain."

"Then why are you in the American army?" Thomas persisted, despite Newt's blunt response.

"Do you see any British soldiers in this bloody war?" he snapped. "Our prime minister was too weak to send the army and I wanted to fight. The American's were happy to have me."

"But you don't fight. You just do the admin st-"

"Leave it, Tommy. You don't know anything."

Newt hurried ahead. Thomas called after him, anyway. "Is it because of your leg?"

He stopped dead in his tracks giving Thomas time to catch up. Newt nodded slowly.

"Bloody rotten luck, wasn't it?" he turned to Thomas, eyes watery but mouth contorted into a smile. "Got caught by a bullet on my first proper mission. I thought I was gonna die, there and then."

"Oh, I'm sorry," was all Thomas could say.

The bunkhouse Newt took him to had about fifteen or twenty men in it, just milling about.

"This here will be your dorm. Try to play nice," he said to Thomas and then to the rest of the group, "Now listen up, you lazy lot! This here is Thomas. We don't want you guys scaring him off, okay? Show him the ropes and don't stay up too late swapping secrets et cetera."

"We know the drill, Newt!" one of them shouted.

"Yeah, we can take it from here."

"We'll show the Greenie how it's done."

"Good luck," Newt breathed in his ear as he turned and left the room.

The boys bounced around the room like children. All calling to one another, they grabbed the bag off his back and chucked it, first on one bed, then another. Thomas was dizzied by the frenzy.

"Everybody shut up," he heard a voice call above the uproar. It quietened but did not dim completely. "SHUT UP!"

Everyone fell silent. From one of the bottom bunks emerged a boy he had not noticed before. It was the same one he had noticed before, the right marker with the squashed in nose and sour expression. He looked older than many of the others, a small thatch of stubble grown on his chin, but still not beyond his very earlier twenties. An ugly smirk formed on his face. "Who says we teach the Greenie how we do things round here?"

There was a chorus of agreement. Boys leapt into the surrounding bunks, sitting on both the top and bottom, as well as a few on the floor, effectively encircling Thomas. A boy significantly smaller than Thomas gestured for Thomas to sit beside him. The ugly boy sat directly across from him but on the tier above, intimidating.

"Welcome to our little group, Thomas," he smiled creepily. "I'm Gally. I run this bunkhouse. And here we have some alternative rules to what you may have learned at the training crèche."

Laughter and murmurs trickled throughout the group.

"Can anyone tell me what rule number one is?"

Thomas almost expected them to put their hands up for Gally's command was strong.

"There is no number one," a boy in the bunk above him with feet dangling over the side said. Gally smirked and gestured for him to continue. "There is one rule and within that rule are a series of minor rules that are specifics encompassed within that one crucial rule."

"Gold star," Gally said. "And can anyone tell me what that one law is?"

Thomas heard the boys mutter snarky replies to each other but only one spoke up.

"We stay a team."

"Perfect," Gally smiled. "You see, Tommy, I'm very proud of my boys. We are by far the best group this place has seen or will ever see."

"We're the best behaved!"

"That is- we never get caught," another interjected.

"We're the most skilled."

"The best at drill-"

"-and fitness."

"We have the highest success rate on missions."

"And the lowest casualty rate."

"And all because," Gally began, everyone falling silent. He looked directly at Thomas. "We stick together."

The small gathering whooped and cheered. Gally raised a hand and all fell silent.

"First of all, Greenie, no outside contact. That means no talking to, chatting with or socialising with any me outside this bunkhouse. When addressed by you seniors, speak briefly and concisely without rudeness nor overt friendliness. This is to minimalist the risk of one of you slintheads grassing us up. That would cause division and separation within our community which would defy the central rule. Also, if they die, it means we don't care and we can still function as a unit without the burden of grief. It that okay with you, Greenie?"

"I guess so, yeah," Thomas murmured, all eyes seemingly trained on him.

"Say it, then. Say 'I swear to refrain from contact with outsiders'. Go on," Gally urged. "Do it." Thomas mumbled over the words. "Louder, Greenie."

"I swear to refrain from contact with outsiders," Thomas choked, words tasting oddly bitter on his tongue.

Gally smiled. "Good," he sneered. "The next rule it simple. No fighting. Naturally, if you're not in contact with the others you cant fight with them so this rule applies more to conflict within the group. Small arguments and disputes are fine but anything different creates a rift which would eventually divide us and jeopardise the plan. Swear you won't fight."

"I swear," Thomas growled, "I won't fight."

"Next is a little more tricky. No unnecessary risks. That means no volunteering for anything with a higher casualty rate, never put yourself forward for the sake of yourself or the greater good. Here we do things for the team."

"But how do you ever expect to make progress?" Thomas interjected.

"Progress? Have you seen the state of this goddamn war? This thing is greater than anything our small group can do and so we must simply survive. Don't be a hero, don't be a martyr. When the world burns we will live on in a world of ashes," he said dramatically.

After a moment of silence, Thomas bowed his head and whispered, "I swear I won't take risks."

"You're learning," Gally commented patronisingly and Thomas felt ashamed. He was starting to really dislike this boy. "I think the next rule is particularly relevant to this one, eh boys?" The men around him chuckled quietly. "No sex. Not here, you won't. No romance, no queers. No kissing boys, no fucking boys," Gally sneered.

Thomas spoke up. "Why...why d'you think that's relevant for me?"

Gally laughed coldly. "Give up the act, Greenie; you can't deny it. We all saw the way you were lookin' at Newt. You were practically drooling!"

The gathering laughed and muttered in agreement.

"I was not!"

"Yeah, you were," a boy beside him commented.

"I swear he was giving Newt those 'fuck me' eyes!"

"He might not be queer, though. Newt does look like a girl," another laughed.

"But without the tits."

"Oh, Newt! Oh, yes! Fuck me, please," another moaned breathily, mocking Thomas.

"There's no use, Greenie," Gally said, commanding silence. "We all know Newt is already taken."

"He has...a girlfriend?" Thomas wondered aloud.

"Not a chance. He's as gay as they come," Gally laughed. "And 'our lord and captain' First Sergeant Minho has private quarters. If you put two and two together then you can work out why Newt spends so much time in there." The group laughed shyly. "Does that turn you on, Greenie? Imagining Minho with his cock inside your precious Newt? Imagining them all hot and sweaty after a night of-"

"Stop it!" Thomas interrupted. "Whatever they do is up to them. It doesn't effect me."

That wasn't strictly true. His face was flushed and a small coil was winding deep in his stomach thinking about those two together.

"Ooh, this one's feisty!" Gally called. "I think you might have trouble sticking to that rule. But you still have to swear it."

"I swear I'm not gay," Thomas said automatically. It was not a lie but it wasn't the truth either.

Gally narrowed his eyes but said nothing further on the matter. "Finally, stay alive. No dying, not on my watch. You boys saw how much Alby's untimely departure effected the res of the group. That ain't gonna happen with us. We stay here, alive."

"I swear I won't die," Thomas spat bitterly. How was he supposed to keep a promise like that?

After a few seconds pause, Gally said, "Right you lot. That's enough entertainment for one evening. Now get your sorry asses into bed."

The boys moaned and complained to each other but did what they were told. Thomas couldn't help but think what would happen if they just stopped and refused to take Gally's orders. What then?

Thomas dragged himself over to where the boys had put his stuff, and, too tired to change properly, took his shirt off and crawled between the sheets.

"Night, Greenie," called someone from across the room.

"Sweet dreams," someone else laughed.

Thomas hoped that when the morning came he would forget all about his crush on Newt and laugh it off as a mere flight of fantasy.

Thomas closed his eyes and was out like a light.


End file.
